The 26th Annual Hunger Games
by LOLlovesDRAGONS
Summary: I'd like to say that I was a good person. I'd like to say that I lived a decent life helping other people. I'd like to say that I didn't kill anyone. I'd like to say that all of their murders were in hot blood. But I can't. Because I wasn't that person. Thalia Evenesse, District Two. Rated M for gore and maybe language in later chapters.


**A/N: Hi guys. I know I haven't posted anything in **_**forever**_**. Sorry, and if you're still here reading my stuff, well *Gives giant e-cookie*  
Anywho, I decided to post this because I got a warm fuzzy when I saw that I got a review on one of my other stories. Whoever you were THANK YOU! Here is an extra-large e-cookie just for you. Oh, and heads up anyone who attempted to read the *insert 'naughty word' here*-ness that is/was Cat and Dog (I'm not sure if I took it down), my friend and I have been re-writing it; it now has a plot and I've almost finished the first chapter! Don't expect anything too soon though, I need to write the prologue and I'm not going to post it until I have a few chapters done.**

**Disclaimer: I am not Suzanne Collins, nor have I ever been. Anything you don't recognise is probably mine.**

The 26th Annual Hunger Games

Chapter 1

I'd like to say that I was a good person. I'd like to say that I lived a decent life helping other people. I'd like to say that I didn't kill anyone. I'd like to say that all of their murders were in hot blood. But I can't. Because I wasn't that person.

The person I used to be was vindictive, malicious and bloodthirsty. I laughed at the people I struck down with my blade. I did nothing to stop my friends from dying. I loved none, other than myself. For myself I would do so much. I thought glory was the most important thing in the world.

My name is Thalia Evenesse and I'm not the person you should root for.

I'm not the good guy.

I suppose I should start at the Reaping. Everything in my life before that is really quite pointless.

It was a hot day and the wind was like nothing I'd ever seen. Most of the other girls, seeing the weather, had chosen to tie their hair up in buns and the like. Nearly all of the possible tributes were bare-footed. Thankfully someone had hosed down the dark stone ground, so none of us burned the soles of our feet off.

That year our district had a new escort. Zekeya Moid. Every time I'd even think about her I used to burst out laughing. What a ridiculous name!

She was young. So young, in fact, that had she come from one of the districts she would have been eligible for the Reaping. I remember wondering how she managed to get such a high rating district like ours. The escorts for our district, District Two, where normally ancient and have had their features so warped that they looked grotesque. Zekeya on the other hand looked, well, natural. As far as I could tell she hadn't gone under the knife just to please the Capitol fashions.

She did, however, wear one of the strangest things I had ever seen. A black tube top and the tiniest shorts in existence and, over that, a black lace unitard. Plus black heels.

After the reading of the Treaty of Treason she stepped up to the microphone in the centre of the stage.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favour." Her voice was annoyingly high pitched. She turned from the microphone and trotted over to the glass ball containing the girls' names. Mine was in there six times. More than most, as we didn't have the tesserae that the lower districts have.

Zekeya's perfectly manicured hand reached in and plucked out a name. She walked back to centre stage and read out the name. It's mine. The odds were in my favour that day.

The other girls parted as I walked to the stage. I was standing towards the front, surrounded by the other seventeen year olds.

I climbed the stairs onto the stage and the lights almost blinded me. This was the day I've been dreaming of my whole life. I crossed the stage and stood at Zekeya's side. She'd be shorter than me if she hadn't been wearing heels. I can remember not being able to stop the smile from spreading across my face.

Zekeya drew the name of the male tribute and called it out before I got to see who it was over her shoulder.

"Bren Evenesse"

As luck would have is Bren happened to be my 15 year old brother. His dark brown hair was cut simular to mine and it flickered in the wind as he mounted the stage. He attended at the Peacekeeper Academy, like me and the lucky ten per cent of the kids from our District.

After he took Zekeya's other side my memories come in flashes.

My mother's farewell "Bring us glory."

The smell of the impressive food on the train

Zekeya's shrill voice "Are you two, like, related or something?"

The silk bed sheets, so soft compared to the cotton ones back home.

The rich breakfast foods. So many flavours.

My memories start making sense when we arrived in the Capitol.

I stumbled out of the train, face pale, and I rushed to the nearest bin. The contents of my stomach were soon flying out of my mouth and into the said bin.

"Well that's what happens when you decide to stuff your face with Capitol food." Bren jested into my ear. It's was true though. The food we ate in Two was exceedingly plain. In fact everything in Two is plain. I found everything about the Capitol exceedingly superfluous.

Zekeya ran up, linked her arm with mine and pulled me towards the remake centre.

"You are going to look _amazing_ when they're finished with you!" I think Zekeya's definition of amazing is very different to mine. For me, amazing is the smell of blood and sweat mixed in with adrenaline and the euphoria of a win. I think amazing for Zekeya involves layers of makeup, stupid outfits and ridiculously high heels.

One of the Peacekeepers opened the door to the Remake Centre with some sort of key-card and Bren and I were separated, taken to different rooms. In mine was my Prep Team. There were three of them, two women and a man. One of the women, she had a cruel face and seemed to be made up completely of angles, gave a half-hiss and jumped back when I entered. I know I wasn't much to look at but I didn't think I was that hideous. The other woman, all I can remember about her was her golden eyes that couldn't be natural, motioned for me to follow her to a shower. At least that's what I think it was meant to be. It looked nothing like the showers in District Two.

"So, what we're going to do is give you a Beauty Base Prep so you'll be ready for your stylist. So that means that we're going to get rid of all the grime on your body and hair, remove all that nasty hair on your body and prep you face for makeup." The man, whose skin was covered in blood-red tattoos, explained.

They made me undress and they then inspected my body. I didn't feel self-conscious; they made us train naked sometimes at the Peacekeeper Academy. That is until a boy of around 13, Angle Lady said he was an apprentice, ran up and poked me in the stomach.

"She has _abs_." He said with awe. Yes, someone paying me a compliment made me feel self-conscious. The man shooed the boy away.

The first part of my cleaning – the shower – was nice enough, though there was an overabundance of scented bubbles. But after the shower my Prep Team scrubbed me down with this gritty… stuff which left my skin looking, and feeling, like I'd gotten a bad sunburn. My hair was washed with around ten different types of product and then the de-hairing started.

Neck-down I was waxed and my eyebrows were 'shaped' and then they 'greased me down' with some sort of lotion that cooled my skin. Then the Prep Team stood back and admired there work. I had to stop myself rolling my eyes when they started talking about how excellent their work on me was, how much of artists they are. Finally Eye Lady called the boy back in.

"Fetch Blaesus. She's ready for him now." Angles instructed him. The boy nodded and ran off. The Prep Team left soon after.

I was left in a sudden silence. For a moment I considered putting on the thin robe that had been provided for me but I decided against it. It was warm enough in there and I thought 'Blaesus' would surely make me remove it the moment he entered.

As if on cue, a man I correctly assumed was Blaesus entered. He was an obese man, with hair such a bright shade of purple that it made my eyes hurt. He waddled over to me and scrutinised me with his squinty eyes.

"You are," He paused for a moment, "good enough. Just" His Capitol accent was more pronounced than most. He motioned towards my robe. When I got into it he made a small noise of what I think was satisfaction. "Follow me."

He led to me a small dining room that had been set up with one of the most delicious looking lunches I had ever seen. I had to stop myself from eating as much as I possibly could, plus some. Blaesus apparently possessed none of the self-control I did as he started stuffing himself the moment we sat down.

After Blaesus' hunger had been satisfied he turned to me and stared at me with his beady little pig's eyes.  
"I assume you viewed last year's Hunger Games?" He said. I nodded slowly. _Is this man a dim-wit_, I thought. It's mandatory to watch the Games. "Good. Your outfit for the parade will be based of Cecelia Haines' last moments."

Cecelia Haines was the girl who had won the previous year. She was from Two. She had such heavy blood loss that they had to operate on her in the hovercraft. But they couldn't save her. She didn't make it back to the Capitol.

I started to ponder what Blaesus could mean by this when he stood up and pressed a button on the wall. The Prep Team came rushing in. Blaesus clapped his hands twice and the women grabbed my arms and pulled me back into the Prep Room.

Quite a few hours later I was standing in front of a mirror, admiring what they had done to me. I was wearing a ripped up and (fake) blood-stained version of the previous year's tribute clothing. I looked like I had just been to Hell and back. My face and exposed skin was 'dirt' streaked and covered in fake cuts and dried blood. My hair looked like it had once been long but had all been burnt off. But the coolest bit of the whole costume had to be the wings. Black and skeletal, they had protruded from the back of my costume and where to open up once our chariot reached a certain point. I looked, and felt, like an angel of death.


End file.
